Packing.
I hate packing. I love unpacking. Packing is an ending; unpacking is a new beginning. Packing is sending parts of yourself far away; unpacking is something that stays with you. Packing is ranking things by importance and then cramming them into a small space; unpacking is scattering your belongings around you, marking your territory, even if temporarily. Packing is constipation; unpacking is that post-coffee release. I hate packing, love unpacking. But today, I’m packing; there are also days like this.
Our November will happen in Romania.
It began with a guest from the past reappearing in our lives. A woman from Israel sublets from us whenever she needs to come to Portugal for work trips. We hesitated a bit when she asked if she could stay at ours throughout November. Then, Ter saw it as an opportunity to visit his homeland, Cape Town, South Africa. He hasn’t seen his family since our wedding and thought this would be a good chance. But somehow, with the end of the endless summer, images of Norway’s frozen landscapes and the beauty of the Northern Lights began to rise and take over our thoughts. Since reading Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy, I’ve dreamt of seeing the Northern Lights. We’re talking about years of longing for a beauty I’ve only seen in my imagination. But finding a reasonably priced place outside the city where you can see the Northern Lights turned out to be a difficult and discouraging task. Norway isn’t impossible, but it’s no Portugal.
In the meantime, our subletter wanted an answer. Can she come? Should she book a flight? Although we didn’t have concrete plans, we said yes. We didn’t know where we’d go, but we knew one thing for sure—we wanted to go. Somewhere, anywhere. We were itching for new adventures, new places, different food, different air, a new landscape—that’s what we’d always done, at least before the war. Above all, we wanted a break from the city. Lisbon is crowded, and we're always so busy during our extended visits to Israel, rushing between friends and family. We wanted to cocoon ourselves (is that a thing?) in a quiet place, away from the city, somewhere cold that would give us a reason to hibernate, to tuck in for a winter’s nap, and only awaken come summer.
We found friends who wanted to join us in Norway, but none of them knew when or for how long, so the whole thing became too vague. At that point, we zoomed out. We moved away from Norway and gradually realised we had no choice but to find a place that might not have the Lights or the North but would offer peace and space and wouldn’t cost more than our rent (it’s not a holiday, after all, just a change of atmosphere). Eventually, our search led us to Transylvania, Romania, not far from Dracula’s castle. If you ask me whether I’m excited—I can’t deny it; I don’t like to lie.
And that’s that. Tomorrow’s the flight. We’ll land in Bucharest and spend the weekend there, then rent a car and drive to Campulung, a small town two hours away. How will we travel? I’m glad you asked. Anyone who’s ever rented a car in Israel for 24 hours will know because, in Romania, that’s the price for renting a car for an entire month. No, I’m not exaggerating.
Comments